5 Stupid Things We Need To Stop Clicking On

We are living through the final gasps of the Information Age. Experts estimate that 62 percent of all information we now receive is deliberately false, and that includes the percentage and experts I made up at the start of this sentence. The sad truth is, most of you will never have the critical thinking or research skills to know what’s real, and that will only make you more sure about the wrong things your stupid ass believes. The good news is that this article isn’t about that shit. The fake news fight is over, and stupid won. No, this article is about the dumb things we all keep falling for — even you, the genius who chose the right political side and religion.

5

Pointlessly Insane Products Are Not That At All

Last year, Tiffany & Co. started selling the Sterling Silver Tin Can, an empty can that costs $1,000. You’ll notice that this is far more than you’d normally pay for soupless garbage. To be clear, this wasn’t some tin can that once held Prince’s final green beans. It’s only a can. As an artistic statement, it was 50 years stale, and as a money-making scheme, it was somewhere between a portable diarrhea box and that same product without a lid. It’s the kind of idea that would make the other Saved By The Bell writers say, “Look, if you’re not ready to come back to work, take more time off to deal with the death of your son.” The point I’m making is that it’s hard not to comment on Tiffany’s silly can, and that’s more appealing to Tiffany & Co. than when we comment on how the people who mined their products all died of slavery.

“Darling, I was part of many souls transcending penetration to transform a utilitarian men’s room into an installment of signature Tiffany oeuvre.” — this Tiffany copywriter explaining to his wife why there are seven colors of pubic hair in his underpants

And it’s not only tin cans and Wu-Tang albums that are marketed in intentionally strange ways. Food advertisers have figured out that they can get more attention by being ridiculous than by being delicious. Remember when KFC used fried chicken as sandwich bread in the Double Down? Or when Chick-Fil-A announced that their fried chicken hated gay people with the Cajun Titty Jiggler? We all made fun of them, but they absolutely did not care. These are people turning pigeon meat and “deported” foreign nationals into nugget shapes. They’ll take any press they can get.

We need to stop doing this. It’s very possible the only conversation any of us had or will ever have about Dr. Pepper came when they released a special version of their soda for men only. We all went on Twitter to say things like, “Forbidding women from tasting Dr. Pepper Ten will only delay the discovery that it’s made from semen, not stop it completely.” We asked questions like, “Why would you make a soda for men only? Are you trying to find the perfect drink to pair with losing custody of your kids?” Or maybe you simply speculated, “Dr. Pepper Ten sounds like the refreshing treat you reach for when defending an accused rapist you haven’t met.”

SORRY LADIES, OUR CREATIVE DIRECTOR IS STILL DEALING WITH SOME CHILDHOOD TRAUMA INVOLVING PENISES.

Products should make the customer happy, not be so deliberately dumb that the customer hears about them during a Jimmy Kimmel monologue. You shouldn’t make every tenth new Oreo out of cat suppository in the desperate hope that cookie influencers tweet about it. And pizza, you especially need to get your shit together.

In 2012, a Pizza Hut employee happened upon the idea of a hot-dog-stuffed crust, quite by accident, when his manager caught him fucking a pizza and demanded an explanation. This marked the last time there would ever be a non-insane pizza invention. Today, pizza marketing is a series of deranged innovations, like a serial killer’s journey toward becoming the Minotaur. For instance, Pizza Hut created “smart” shoes that place an order for you. Aside from getting the elderly to wonder what they’re going to come up with next, what the fuck good do pizza shoes do anyone? If you have a use for ordering Pizza Hut via shoe, your foot is going to fall off from diabetes long before you get to do it a second time.

And did you know that Domino’s spent millions of dollars promoting something called “carryout insurance?” It’s what it sounds like — a financial guarantee that when your sloppy ass drops a pizza, they give you another one. Aside from getting us to mention how dumb that is, what’s the point? Was there a community of fat idiots eating pizza off the ground and demanding their representatives do something? Let’s say it’s just to set your mind at ease. Let’s pretend you’re thinking about ordering Domino’s, but decide against it because you’re always dropping pizza. Will this convince you? Of course not. You’re not even here. You were taken in the night by mad scientists, and now you’re a lump of brain tissue labelled “HISTORY’S SADDEST FUCK.”

“CARRYOUT INSURANCE!? Hey, boss? Yeah, I just found a loophole that gives me unlimited floor pizza. So what I’m saying is you can kiss my ass.

4

All Things “Of The Year” Are Arbitrary Decisions Made By Small Teams Of Random Assholes

We are living in the darkest of times. Our current sexiest man alive looks like a rectangle who makes its living hustling milk-drinking contests.

“I’m digesting four gallons of Half & Half. Hi, I’m Blake Shelton, your sexiest man alive.”

When People magazine announced hoedown music standout Blake Shelton as the sexiest man alive while Casper Van Dien was still not dead, it hit like a bomb. Every Twitter account and Safeway express lane had a hot take on it. It wasn’t merely controversial; it was a direct challenge to what vaginal lubrication even meant. What will it do to society if passably handsome NASCAR dads are the new standard of sexy? Do we need to stop doing sit-ups? Will there be enough denim?

What will Casper Van Dien do with this boner?

You know what we should have been doing that whole time? Not giving a shit about how handsome Blake Shelton is. Don’t get me wrong, Blake Shelton is alright. His condoms probably don’t expire, and if he was arrested for sodomizing a dairy cow, you’d think “Him?” But let’s not play games. He’s not the sexiest man alive. At best, he’s “Oklahoma’s Hottest Mostly Ham DNA.” But we should remember that this isn’t some great honor decided by measuring the gonad stimulation of test subjects. “Sexiest Man Alive” is picked by four or five editors desperately trying to hang onto print media jobs, and every now and then one of them is smart enough to say, “What if we trolled everyone?” With all respect to Blake Shelton’s fuckability, if you died trying to teach a prosthetic arm how to give a handjob, the People staff would write your name up on the “Sexiest Man Alive MAYBES” board.

It’s important to keep in mind how meaningless these titles are before we get outraged. Before Donald Trump, Time gave its 2006 “Person of the Year” title to You, as in the second-person pronoun. And in 1938 they gave it to Hitler, the Donald Trump of 1938. These are meaningless choices meant to inspire terrible conversations between uninteresting people. Did you think LaTonya from Fayetteville was chosen as Jet ‘s “Beauty of the Week” because of her winning tits and smile? Wake up. It’s because her face tattoo says “Abortion is Bae.” Please, all of us, we have to stop getting outsmarted by the Jet magazines of the world.

3

It’s Not An Event When Fictional Characters Die

In 1992, DC Comics killed Superman — an invincible ventriloquist with laser eyes, frost breath, and chronosphere-bending flight speed — with a rock monster who was pretty good at punching. Despite it being the third time he had died, the country went into mourning and the story was picked up by the actual news. Which was weird, because if the media wanted to cover upsetting Superman stories, where were they when his girlfriend got turned into a pony and fucked his horse?

I think about this every day. Every day.

Why are we so obsessed with fictional deaths? Most of the time, they’re not even real in the make-believe universe in which they happen. Captain America and Batman die around 20 times a year, each in different combinations of fake-outs, resurrections, and universe reboots. If a dead guy’s best friends own a time machine and the Eye of Agamotto, you can probably hold off on making funeral plans. And if your favorite character dies on The Walking Dead, maybe don’t waste an hour watching Chris Hardwick cry until you see the body.

It should help you relax knowing that most fictional deaths are only abusive pranks, but the “real” ones are about as meaningless.

I mean, you knew there wasn’t going to be any more Firefly. This death cost us maybe two wisecracks.

Remember when Han Solo died? He was a 73-year-old laser gun fighter scheduled to get his own movie in three years. His death was both long overdue and completely inconsequential to the amount of Han Solo you will continue to see on your TV. His father-in-law, Darth Vader, was on screen for about 36 minutes before he died in 1983, and since his death, there have been more Anakin Skywalker stories than anyone could ever want. Anakin Skywalker is the Nicolas Cage of outer space. He stopped making good movies three decades ago, yet he’s still everywhere and radiating inexplicable cosmic energy.

If George R. R. Martin went on TV to announce that a meteor hit Westeros between books and everyone in A Song Of Ice And Fire is gone, how is that different from the world you’re living in now? The guy has clearly wanted to focus more on snacks for about four books. You know what’s sadder than seeing Ned Stark get his head chopped off? Watching some fragile-hearted slob go through the stages of grief in a YouTube video afterwards. Parents, if your child is filming themselves weep over a make-believe death, that’s a bigger failure than if your child is filming themselves pee into a tube sock for Patreon supporters. I mean, you can do whatever you want, but when you cry over fake people whom you can still see every day for as long as you want, you’re only sending a message to the people around you that you’re a dramatic piece of shit. But I know something that will cheer you up!

2

Being Special Is Free

That’s right, I said it.

You’re welcome.

It’s pretty easy to sell someone nothing more than the idea that they’re special or important for actual money. For example, somewhere right now, a Todd is looking through a rack of keychains to see if they have one with his name on it. “I hope they have a Todd,” he might announce as he thumbs through dusty garbage. “They do! And it’s spelled right!” So Todd will buy it, a cute reminder of the worst store in the least interesting part of a city he once visited, and it will never occur to him that an Indonesian factory gambled and won that a completely shitty Todd would one day pay money to remind himself of his own name. This next part is way off-topic, but not even the Indonesians could have foreseen that this keychain would one day be used to frame Todd …

… for Toddslaughter.

Back to the point I was trying to make: We are all susceptible to this crap. Coke had its first sales increase in more than a decade when it introduced the idea of adding the customers’ stupid fucking names to their cans and bottles. And the internet has been haunted by ego-stroking personality quizzes and IQ tests since before we used it to pay girls peeing into tube socks. We are so desperate to be told we’re special that we will suspend all disbelief and critical thinking to hear it. You should know that answering a few simple personality questions does not make you the coolest ninja turtle, and you shouldn’t trust the scores of an IQ test that you watched yourself cheat on which also advertises free Slavic women and four new pounds of dick girth.

One of my favorite examples of this, and favorite things in general, is an online community called Intertel — “An International Society of the Intellectually Gifted.” It’s very difficult to get in. You can only join if you score in the top 1 percent of any self-administered intelligence test and mail in a $10 application fee. You may have considered that this in fact checks to see whether you’re stupid enough to mail in a test with a 98 percent score or less and nothing else. If you get accepted, you then pay a $39 annual fee to be a part of a genius club for people who are very specifically not. What do you get? I’m so glad you asked. For the annual fee, you get unlimited pity and the right to post a photo and bio about your unusually gullible self. It has created an avalanche of unearned ego that looks like a late ’90s Casper Van Dien fan page whose webmaster went mysteriously missing.

Image courtesy of the estate of the Casper Van Dien Fan Page & Genius Community webmaster.

OK, no, but seriously, this next image is a real screenshot from the Inertel (An International Society of the Intellectually Gifted) website. This is a real person who really thinks he’s in the 1 percent of intellectual elites, and this is his real profile.

I didn’t doctor this. This is what an actual genius named BigJim369 pays $39 a year to display. Fuck! This world is magic and you get to live in it!

Another business that exploits your love of yourself on a massive, sprawling scale is the pop-up museum industry. The name implies that there are things to do or learn inside them, but they’re more like oversized photo booths than art galleries. For instance, if you take a trip to the zany, world-famous Museum of Ice Cream, you will learn zero to one things about ice cream and eat ice cream worth $45 less than the entry ticket. What you will do is wait in line to take photos of yourself next to what you’d describe in any other context as “nothing of interest.” So to be clear, we are so self-obsessed that it’s now an effective business model to charge us money to take pictures of ourselves so we can promote you online.

You didn’t fool ME, Museum of Ice Cream. But my family loved it. Five stars.

1

Stop Making It Seem Like There Are Nazis

OK, so the world has enough idiot racists to elect Donald Trump president, but not all of those voters were full white supremacists. Some of them were simply too religious to know when someone is lying or too old to change their mind about politics. And yes, a troubling number of them were Nazis. But in a lot of ways, most things are fine and the world isn’t as awful as you think.

You’re welcome again.

Impossibly shitty people, like the Trump supporters who took that Garfield mug personally, seem like they’re everywhere. A lot of that is our fault — the decent people making fun of them. They use us to amplify their voices, like Han Solo (R.I.P.) convincing a hallway of Stormtroopers that he’s way more people than he actually is. Every few minutes, a website publishes a variation on the article “These Miserable Fucks Said Something Racist About A Thing And Got Annihilated By Twitter.” They’re fun and vaguely heroic, but if you read more than one, you’ll start to see that they all share the same content. It’s the same three or four racist tweets quoted in every article, tweeted by the same three or four racists who “attacked” the Star Wars with the Asian girl and “staged boycotts” of the all-lady Ghostbusters. We need to stop treating these three or four people like they’re a threat to anything other than skewing PornHub’s algorithm to favor mother-son incest.

BREAKING NEWS: Local high school’s least-likable prick still making quite a spectacle out his irrelevant awfulness.

Here’s a reassuring fact: A study of Reddit found that 1 percent of communities were responsible for 74 percent of all conflict. We are taking the intentionally ignorant comments of a Kia’s worth of debate club hobbyists and pretending they’re a tidal wave of hate we must stand together against. The “alt-right” movement is 30 boys too cranky to date and too slow to learn Dungeons & Dragons. Their supporters are a toxic group of gamers who will disappear once they turn 17, and their media outlet is a cable network whose entire audience will be dead in two more flu seasons. All these people want is for the other side to get upset, so if we stop writing thinkpieces about the rise of dapper white nationalism and focus more on how liberals hate suicide cults, we can be rid of them almost immediately.

BREAKING NEWS: C-word who only tweets C-wordy antisemitic things DOES!

Ann Coulter is a good example. She’s the skeletal remains of antique intolerance, and she has about as much cultural influence as Corey Feldman’s band, Oral Thrush and the Yeast 2000s. Has she ever done anything other than hiss wrong things at impatient TV personalities or pretend that clinical antisemitism is antisemitic comedy? She only seems like she is a thing because 10,000 of us dunk on the bitch every time she blames her oral thrush on the Jews. Without all of us explaining to each other how wrong she is, Coulter would just be wandering through Home Depot to see if there are any white employees she can ask about the toilet safety rails. And soon she would be hatching spider eggs in her mouth while her parakeet watched her body rot. “Rawk! The Jews are at it again!” it would repeat to her undiscovered corpse. “The Jews are at it again!”

We all seem to get how dumb it is when the news says “teens” are doing a comically apeshit thing like human centipede parties or detergent eating. Why can’t we use those same giant brains to figure out how one Nazi nerd looking for attention isn’t “the Right”? I know it’s tough to resist trolls, but Kim Kardashian owning all the world’s money should have taught you that there is virtue in shutting the fuck up about some things. We need to stay strong not in the battle against the “alt-right,” but in the battle to ignore them. The next time you see another column about how women won’t date conservative men, leave it alone. Let those dickless Nazis keep writing versions of that article into the empty void until they learn evil causes women to dry up. And the next time someone on your Facebook thread defends their Second Amendment rights after a school shooting, don’t validate their child murder fandom with attention. Move your cursor to the left and click on their mother’s profile. Pose as Blake Shelton, win her moist trust, and quietly destroy that child-murderer’s family. Every one of us can shut up and make a difference.

Seanbaby invented being funny on the Internet. You can follow him on Twitter, or play his hit mobile game Calculords.

Did you realize Casper van Dien was in a Tarzan movie in the 90s?

Support Cracked’s journalism with a visit to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you.

For more, check out 5 Deeply Embarrassing Things The News Keeps Doing and 6 Times The News Went Totally Overboard Chasing A Story.

You should click on this link and follow us on Facebook.

Read more: http://www.cracked.com/blog/5-stupid-things-we-need-to-stop-clicking-on/

6 Of Your Favorite Foods (That Have Horrible Secrets)

We don’t mean to overstate our case, but some might say that food is literally crucial to human survival. That’s why, over time, we’ve learned to stop eating random berries in the forest and pay attention to what exactly we’re putting into our food holes. But while we assume that our restaurants, grocery stores, and farmers are being honest about what they’re selling, the horrific truth is that what they’re truly feeding us are lies. Damn lies.

And sometimes mold.

6

Wineries Are Spiking Wines With Wood Chips And Grape Juice

Good wine, the kind that doesn’t come in boxes with a mascot on it, can get expensive. It’s made from the finest of grapes, and is then left to ferment in caskets made of rich oak. That’s why wines with a deep color and a slightly wooden taste are a surefire sign of quality. Except that wineries have found a much more efficient way of giving their wine its oaken flavor: They simply put wood in the wine.

Greece and Grapes“I’m getting hints of broken chair and old deck.”

Turns out that those barrels you saw on the tour of your local winery may have only been for show. Wooden barrels are now being replaced with steel vats, but to keep the wine’s expensive oaken taste, it gets mixed with “barrel alternatives.” That’s a fancy term for wood staves, chips, and even shavings thrown into a vat along with the wine. Why? Because using shavings shaves a dollar off the price of a bottle (on their end, of course, not ours), up until all those splinter-related lawsuits presumably start pouring in.

Carol Franzia/Bronco WineYes, this one has a very nice garden hose bouquet.

But that’s not the only way wineries are cutting corners. A lot of wine is made using something called “Mega Purple,” which sounds like the main villain in a coloring-themed manga. It’s a grape concentrate, or slurry, which big wine labels add to underwhelming red wine to intensify the flavor and color and sometimes even to mask spoilage. It’s estimated that over 25 million bottles get spiked with Mega Purple on a yearly basis. Many wineries rely so heavily on it that they have their own reverse-osmosis machines which let them make their own concentrates by extracting the alcohol from their shitty wines to pump up slightly less shitty wine. Yummy.

Andy Perdue/Great Northwest WineThe flavor of a thousand $3 wines.

And then there’s the migrant labor. California’s famous Napa Valley is heavily dependent on migrant laborers, to the extent that The New York Times wrote that “nearly every drop” of the wine depends on them. And lest you think they’re being treated well, that’s not how migrant labor works. Vineyards overwork their laborers, and often cheat them out of most of their paychecks through exorbitant living expenses, making it so that a typical worker might only earn $10 for ten hours of backbreaking work. It seems that from field to cellar, something other than grapes is being squeezed.

5

A Third Of All Fish Is Intentionally Mislabeled

Like most humans (except for those people who compulsively eat pennies), we’re very particular about the things we eat. As a result, “mystery meat” is regarded as less of a gourmet experience and more of a post-apocalyptic necessity. But in seafood restaurants, one out of three times, what you shovel on your fork might not be what you pointed at on the menu at all.

As we’ve mentioned before, the food industry has a long history of falsely labeling things to attract picky customers. However, when it comes to selling fish, mislabeling has become an epidemic. According to an investigation by Oceana, which tested 1,200 samples from supermarkets and restaurants across 21 states, it was discovered that 33 percent of fish were mislabeled. In South California, that number rose to an astonishing 52 percent, meaning there were more phony fish than the real McCod. Nowhere but LA could even their fish be mostly fake.

Yoon S. Byun/The Boston GlobeOne always lies about being tuna, the other always tells the truth. You may ask no questions.

The fish most likely to be counterfeit was red snapper. Of the 120 samples they tested, only seven were in truth red snapper, making them the rarest fish to spot, second only to the Loch Ness monster. White tuna also belongs on a milk carton, as 84 percent of its samples turned out to be escolar, which can cause nasty digestive problems. Other commonly mislabeled fish include halibut, grouper, cod, and Chilean sea bass. And it turns out that sushi restaurants also rest their sashimi on a bed of lies, because 74 percent of the samples from such venues were mislabeled, making your local gas station actually the safest place to eat sushi.

So for those of us who would like to know what sea monster we’re shoveling down our throats, here’s a helpful chart:

OceanaAnd the side of prawns you ordered are spray-painted cockroaches.

As you can tell, lots of these hidden fish don’t sound too tasty, and they’re also nowhere near as valuable as the listed fish. But even if they were as good (they aren’t), not a lot of people would pay the same for some slickback, toothfish, or weakfish … or giltheaded seabream, which sounds like one of Jethro Tull’s lesser albums. We’re most worried about the Asian “catfish,” but that’s because we don’t believe in eating food that comes with a garnish of quotation marks.

4

Farmers Markets And Farm-To-Table Restaurants Are Full Of Frauds

Tired of the faceless franchise eateries serving over-salted slop? The depressingly lit chain supermarkets selling you genetically modified, hormone-injected, battery-farmed zucchinis? Well then it’s time to put on your horn-rimmed glasses and plaid shirt and head on over to those quaint farmers markets and farm-to-table eateries for some wholesome, unmolested food. Except that the ethical side of food production isn’t all that ethical either, having been infiltrated by frauds and con artists. Who knew you couldn’t trust some random dude in overalls?

In California, farmers market cheaters are running rampant. Plenty of the state is farmland, so it’s easy to assume most of your food is coming straight from the field. However, when the NBCLA did an undercover investigation of farmers markets in the area, they discovered that many of them were clearly selling produces they hadn’t cultivated themselves.

See, in order to sell at a farmers market, you actually have to be a farmer — a verified one, with a pitchfork and everything. But when the NBCLA drove to the “farms,” all they found were a bunch of weeds / dirt fields. So unless these farmers were all part of some wizardly hippie collective magicking up their produce out of thin air, it’s safe to assume they were selling you the same stuff you could find at a Walmart at half the price. Fake farmers are popping up all over the country, some of them so brazen that they’ll specifically label their food pesticide-free while having no idea whether that’s true or not. How would they know? They’re not really farmers.

The same sort of chicanery goes on at farm-to-table restaurants. A series of exposes in The Tampa Bay Times revealed the myriad ways your favorite locally sourced hipster eating collective could be lying to you, from frozen food masquerading as fresh and buying pre-made dishes, to fish mislabeling and food marked as “organic” or “non-GMO” which was the exact opposite. As the owner of the famous Chino Farms noted: “Chefs will come, write down notes, leave without buying anything, and then say they’re serving our food at their restaurants.” They hypocrisy is so intense that one restaurant even had a “F**k Monsanto Salad” on its menu (along with truffle fries), but when a reporter confronted the chef about where he got his produce, he shrugged and said, “It’s really hard to find non-GMO produce.” But it’s so, so easy to lie.

3

Lots Of Craft Whiskey Labels Don’t Even Make Their Own Alcohol

Whiskey is the drink that breaks through all social barriers — and we don’t just mean that it’ll make you get naked in public. The brown stuff is famous for its variety in taste, each brand having its own distinct flavor profile. There’s a whiskey out there for everyone, almost literally these days. With the growing popularity of small batches, hundreds of artisanal whiskeys are bringing their subtly unique flavor to the masses. Well, not all that unique, really, as most American small batches all come from the same giant vats in Indiana.

Eagle Country OnlineYour typical seven-story startup.

While craft whiskeys like to pretend they’re all wholesome small businesses distilling hooch from an ancient family recipe, the sad truth that this is often a marketing stunt. To cut corners, many of these new artisanal labels buy their alcohol wholesale from a single factory distillery in Indiana. MGP (formerly Seagrams) mass produces all kinds of alcohol (including “food grade industrial alcohol”), and is known for its low cost and consistency in taste — the same consistency that then gets poured into dozens of differently labeled bottles, each boasting of their “individual and unique” taste. So if you ever wondered how you were able to buy 15-year-aged rye from a company that only started in June, there’s your answer.

As for the why, start-up distilleries often use the same excuse. They do it as “a means to develop a brand and help fund the next step” of distilling their own alcohol. But it’s easier and cheaper and lazier, and often they never stop. Some craft labels even go as far as to create “Potemkin distilleries” — shiny distilleries that produce nothing but the appearance of self-sufficiency while the label keeps slinging their cheap factory booze. Even some pretty large labels cut the same corners, such as Bulleit, George Dickel rye, and Angel’s Envy, while other so-called craft labels are in fact owned by bigger, more mass-produced companies looking to upsell their leftovers. Most of them don’t even modify their factory booze before they pour it into their fancy bottles, which turn out to be the only things they put some effort into.

Knotter BourbonAt least these guys are upfront about it.

But if you really like MGP’s stuff (after all, you’ve probably already drunk loads of it without realizing), at least there’s one label that doesn’t lie to you. Knotter (as in “not our”) Bourbon markets its booze with the statement “We didn’t distill this bourbon. Nope, not a drop.” Now that’s the kind of straight-shootin’ honesty we like to see.

2

Licorice Causes All Sorts Of Medical Problems

Licorice is one of those divisive candies. Either you love ’em, or you’ve eaten the black ones. Its distinctive taste comes from the licorice root, a plant that shows nature can easily be a very boring Willy Wonka. But as is the case with any plant life, new biological discoveries can change the way we look at them each day. And unfortunately for licorice fans out there, licorice root is terrible for you.

Rik Schuiling/TropCrop – TCSAnd not just terrible-tasting.

In 2001, Finnish researchers discovered that licorice root is a complicating factor in pregnancies, leading to premature birth — so best not use it as a teething tool either unless you want your kid to stay under four feet. But the list goes on. The root can also be a contributing factor in kidney disease, breast malignancies, and (obviously) diabetes. It can also interfere with medicines such as blood thinners and insulin. It’s poison, is what we’re saying. Just be safe and eat sugar straight out of the bag.

But don’t worry about those little health niggles, as licorice can straight up kill you as well. Because it screws with your potassium level, the FDA has warned people over 40 that they can develop heart problems merely by eating two ounces of licorice candy daily for two weeks. The FDA even went so far as to say that everyone, regardless of their age or how healthy they are, should be careful consuming licorice. Fortunately, the problem is usually reversible if you stop eating the stuff. Great! It’s the cigarettes of sweets! Time for a whole new ad campaign.

1

The Best “Aged” Steaks Involve Mold

Aged steak is delicious. It’s so delicious that most of us never even question why on earth “aging” meat would be a good thing; it just obviously is. And for those of you who would like to keep living with that ignorant bliss, best you stop reading here and go enjoy a juicy Matrix steak right now.

Christopher Thomond/The GuardianBon appetit.

For the rest of you intrepid explorers … we don’t know how to sugar-coat this for you, so we’re just going to show you what your $80 dry-aged steak looks like 15 minutes before you put it in your mouth.

Men’s HealthBad appetit.

The somewhat-revolting truth is that steak gets aged by controlled rotting — like cheese, only made from the decaying carcass of a dead animal. Dry-aging beef, the old-school way of doing it, is done by placing the meat in an environment where the chef controls the temperature, humidity, and ventilation. This process causes the meat to dry in a way to increases its flavor while the beef slowly decays and becomes more tender. Meanwhile, the outer layer of the beef quickly transforms into a horrific crust of mold, which is then cut off right before you eat it, which means hobos eating out of the dumpster and people paying a few hundred dollars for a steak do have something in common after all.

Unfortunately, this fungus feast for steak lovers is only getting worse, as gourmet restaurants are starting a crazy arms race about it, trying to out-age each other like they’re bitter rivals who wound up in the same retirement home. 55-day steak, 100-day steak, 180-day steak … soon, you’ll have an aged steak that’s old enough to drive. The current winner appears to be the Dallas Chop House in Texas (where else) which served a 459-day steak. If they’d aged it any longer, it’ll look about as appetizing as a zombie from The Walking Dead right before it hits your plate.

Serious EatsAre we sure “aged” isn’t naturopath for “roadkill?”

So while the food industry is constantly lying to you about where and how your favorite eatings come into being, we guess the moral here is that sometimes, we should be grateful for the lies.

Dry-aging steak at home is actually still kind of a neat process to watch, try it yourself and see.

If you loved this article and want more content like this, support our site with a visit to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you.

Read more: http://www.cracked.com/article_25441_6-your-favorite-foods-that-have-horrible-secrets.html

The Bitter Truth About Fighting Chronic Pain Without Opioids

If you’ve tried to get painkillers from your doctor recently, or read literally any news story about white rural America, you know that we have an opioid epidemic. Fortunately, it turns out there is a clear, simple solution to the problem. Here’s a quote from Attorney General Jeff Sessions, breaking it down for the rest of us simple-minded shits:

“The plain fact is, I believe — and I am operating on the assumption that this country prescribes too many opioids — I mean, people need to take some aspirin sometimes and tough it out a little. That’s what General Kelly — you know, he’s a Marine — he had a surgery on his hand, a painful surgery … he goes, ‘I’m not taking any drugs. It did hurt though.’ He did admit it hurt. But, I mean, a lot of people, you can get through these things.”

As someone who lives with awful chronic pain, I of course agree with him. Sometimes you do have to just tough it out. It really is that simple. I’m not being sarcastic at all. Allow me to share my inspirational story.

Note: Former Cracked editor John Cheese is now the editor in chief of The Modern Rogue!

5

Simply Plan Your Entire Life Around The Pain

When I was a kid, I had a diving accident that did permanent damage to my neck and back. The details aren’t important — it really is the kind of thing that could have happened to any sensible person — but the result was that from ten feet in the air, I landed headfirst on a sandbar that was covered by just a couple of feet of water. I was completely vertical, like a goddamn Tom And Jerry cartoon. It hurt. And I didn’t even get the dignity of a wacky *boing!* sound.

As a result, for the last 30 years, I’ve dealt with chronic back pain. At its worst, it feels like a star collapsed inside my body. Sometimes, though, it changes gears and feels like someone hammered a red-hot nail into my neck and left it there. When that happens, sneezing or coughing will send a lightning bolt up my spine, a jolt of agony that makes me feel like I’m going to piss my pants. That can last for weeks. I’ve had broken bones that didn’t hurt like this. Other times, the muscles will suddenly get so weak that they just turn to Jell-O. Here, try this: Drop to the floor and do crunches until you physically can’t anymore, and then keep doing them for several more minutes. The muscle death you feel, coupled with that pulsating burn? That’s what I feel on most days, from sunup to sundown.

But I of course can power through it without the help of my painkiller prescription, via the irrepressible power of the human spirit. It just takes a little extra planning if I know I’m going to be doing anything extreme, like being on my feet for a couple of hours. For example, I recently took my daughter to the mall for some birthday shopping. After an hour and a half, I physically couldn’t walk anymore. By the time we got back to the car, I thought I was going to have to beg a stranger to help cram me into the driver’s seat, urging them to press on through my screams. Had I planned better, I could have simply quadrupled my dose of aspirin and Skyped with my daughter from the car while she shopped.

That’s the key to pain management: planning ahead and not doing the thing that causes you pain, and also remembering that nearly all things cause you pain. For instance, I pace when I talk on the phone. I can’t help it. This means a 20-minute phone call can potentially seize up my back so completely that I have to execute the sitting process in slow, gentle stages, looking like a GIF loading on a spotty LTE connection.

Of course, if I was smart, I would just stop talking on the phone forever. Or I could plan ahead by taking a few aspirin and toughing through that shit like a tank. I just need to cue up some Jeff Sessions and remember his inspirational words: “But, I mean, a lot of people, you can get through these things.”

4

Let Societal Scorn Work Its Magic

Over the past eight years, my wife has been through the following:

— An injury that resulted in two knee surgeries

— Her ACL torn right in half, resulting in a third

— Chronic migraines that regularly send her to the ER

Fucking brain surgery

When her ACL popped, she couldn’t touch her foot to the floor without crying so hard that she was close to vomiting. After the first doctor visit, they sent her home with two ibuprofen and a pair of crutches. It wasn’t until a week later that they did a scan and saw the tear. Between this and her original surgeries, the doctors said she’d likely be in pain for the rest of her life. Yet any time she complains to them about the pain, they look at her like she’s trying to bullshit her way into some sweet, sweet drugs. As if she went into the joint and popped that ligament with a pair of bolt cutters just so she’d have the pretense to take an occasional flight on Opioid Airlines.

I get the same. Any time I have to ask for pain medication, it’s followed with a suspicious look and “Are you sure the ibuprofen isn’t helping?” I understand. Even though I’m just asking for weak-ass Tramadol (a synthetic opioid specifically designed to be less addictive), you can still get hooked on that. I’m aware that addicts fake their way into prescriptions all the time. I also know that they sell them on the streets, and to be perfectly honest, I’d have an easier time buying the pills off of them than getting them from an actual doctor. The doctor is the only one who will judge me as a piece of shit.

Fortunately, feeling like a scumbag addict is a great motivator for staying away from opioids, despite the fact that they do take away 100 percent of my pain and allow me to physically function through an average day. Politicians say you’re just weak. Perspective employers see you as a potential pill-popping train wreck. Co-workers and subordinates look at you like you’re Dr. House. Friends and family will compare your pain to theirs and blow it off. (“Your back hurts? That’s nothing. I lost three fingers working at the guillotine factory. You don’t see me suckin’ down pain pills”) I simply have to measure the physical pain against the psychological/emotional pain and realize that the latter is greater. Problem solved.

3

Trust The Professionals To Let You Know When To Endure Excruciating Pain

The absolute best way to stay away from opioids is to let the medical profession do what it’s currently doing: restrict the everloving shit out of them in a completely arbitrary way. For instance, did you know that CVS announced in late 2017 that they would be limiting opioid prescriptions to a seven-day supply? And that patients would have to try the immediate-release pills before switching to the much more effective extended-release pills that chronic pain sufferers need? Thank. God.

Here I was, worried about my own willpower and aspirin-taking toughness, when all I had to do was wait for doctors and pharmacies to step in and say, “We got ya, buddy. We will fucking die before letting you abuse your medication.” I wish they’d take it a step further and just have me come in every time I need an individual pill. Just hand it out at the counter with a little cup of water, like Nurse Ratched from One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.

Of course, “seven-day supply” doesn’t really have much of a meaning. My wife’s 30-day supply of Tramadol is 30 pills. Take a look at the instructions:

Now, if we’re talking about someone who has pain once per day during a specific four-hour time span, that is definitely a 30-day supply. But if we’re talking about someone who is dealing with chronic pain, then taking the recommended dosage makes that bottle last seven to ten days. And that, my friends, is one hell of an awesome way to beat opioid dependence. Just make them up and vanish for 20 days per month. No more worrying about willpower. No need to toughen up. It’s totally out of your hands. “You’re out already? Well that sucks. You shouldn’t have taken what we told you to take. Oh well. Come back in 20 days, and we’ll get you some more. In the meantime, here’s some aspirin. How’s your toughness?”

2

Don’t Worry, Self-Care Is Your Ticket To Complete Opioid Freedom

Have you ever shopped for computer chairs at an office supply store? They always have little tags with a single-digit number on them. If you never looked up what those mean, they’re “suggested hours of use.” So if the tag says “5,” they’re saying, “Don’t sit in this for more than five hours per day, you lazy, computer-using turd.” I routinely work in a computer chair for 18 hours a day. There are no computer chairs with a rating of “18”.

Office Depot“Intensive” rated doesn’t even meet half of that.

In order to prevent my vertebrae from permanently fusing together, I follow the rule of thumb to get up and walk around for five to ten minutes every hour. And that will absolutely work for all of you too, because you also work from home and have no boss who will walk over and say, “Every time I see you, you’re walking around aimlessly, doing nothing. Do you want me to fire you?”

Now, if you’re one of the rare people who does have a boss (loser), you should just explain to them that experts recommend that you stand for two to four hours during your work day, and you’ll either need two desks (one for sitting and one for standing) or a sitting-to-standing desk for your office. Those generally only cost around $400. They should be fine with that.

Duro-Med“How about an $11 hemorrhoid pillow instead?” “But I don’t … *sigh* whatever.”

If you work in physical labor, you’ll need to do the opposite, taking plenty of breaks to get off your feet. The great thing about physical labor is that it’s a job known for its reasonable, empathetic supervisors and flexible project deadlines. They will have absolutely no problem with you pulling up a chair once every hour for some pain prevention. There is no way they’ll say, “I didn’t hire you to sit on your ass. Get back to work or allow me to go spend the three minutes it would take me to find a replacement.”

1

You Will Definitely Become Tough

Here’s the thing about chronic pain: It doesn’t just affect you or your throbbing body part. It turns you into a dick, because it’s impossible to maintain a positive, healthy state of mind when all you can concentrate on is *throb, throb, throb, throb, throb*. Unless you’re showing exaggerated physical signs or you outright tell someone about how much pain you’re in, other people have no idea why you’re being a douche. They just think, “Man, screw that dude.” People in my situation usually know what it’s like to ask for a promotion and be interrupted with, “I’d really love to give you the position, but you really are a piece of shit, Chad.”

Also, chronic pain is often linked with depression, and the two feed off of each other like the Auryn, only made out of human shit. The pain makes the depression worse, and the depression robs you of the motivation and energy to manage the pain. It’s a perpetual motion machine that often ends with goddamn suicide. “How tragic, he was always so sad for some reason.” YES, MAYBE IT WAS BECAUSE THE ENTIRE TOP HALF OF MY FUCKING BODY WAS ON FIRE.

The upside is that if you survive a few decades of this, you’ll be tough as hell. You could be catapulted anus-first into a cactus made of metal and be like, “Pfft. Just give me a couple of aspirin. I’ll be fine.” Hell, Jeff Sessions may even put you in one of his speeches.

“I knew a writer who couldn’t walk the length of one shopping mall,” he’ll say. “His pain was so severe that he only slept a few hours per night. It gave him chronic depression. He had been in the hospital multiple times for nervous breakdowns. His kids learned to not ask him to go on long trips, because he couldn’t physically handle the car ride. But by God, he didn’t take opioids, because that man, he was as tough as a leather dildo.”

You can find John and lots of your favorite writers at The Modern Rogue, where he is editor in chief. You can also follow him on Twitter.

And heck, maybe leatherworking could be a fun hobby to take your mind off the pai–nah, not really.

If you loved this article and want more content like this, support our site with a visit to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you.

Read more: http://www.cracked.com/blog/the-bitter-truth-about-fighting-chronic-pain-without-opioids/

What We’re Still Not Teaching Kids About Consent

If I’m remembering correctly, sex ed in the ’80s consisted of the following lessons:

— First grade: Tell someone if a grownup (who isn’t a doctor) touches your private parts

— Fifth grade: You’re going to bleed from your private parts one day, catch these free diaper-sized maxi pads as we lob them at your head

— Tenth grade: You know what sex is, right? Don’t do that unless you like making babies. And if you’re going to have sex, wear a condom because of AIDS. Good luck!

If you’re wondering where the big lessons on consent were, so am I. If I’m being generous, I can conjure up a fuzzy memory of a tenth-grade coach/teacher in belted short shorts telling the boys in the room, “Guys, no means no. I mean it.” And that would have been the final word on the subject, because we all thought we were using the same language when it came to consent. Yes was yes, no was no, where’s the confusion?

The confusion, as we’ve mentioned before, is in how pop culture tells men that no really means “maybe, try again,” and tells women that if you didn’t say no hard enough, you probably didn’t mean it in the first place. Maybe work on your communication skills, body language, and drinking schedule for next time, girly. The confusion comes in real-world situations in which body parts are already slippery and engorged and you want this but not that, and you aren’t sure how to say you want this but not that. The confusion comes when no one teaches that “maybe,” “not yet,” “let’s just kiss” and *gentle push to create distance* should be treated as “no,” full stop.

Consent is sticky and confusing not just because sex itself can be sticky and confusing, but also because we haven’t given future sexual beings the language, tools, or authority to communicate what they want out of sex. And yes, when I say “future sexual beings,” I mean kids. This is a column about kids and sex.

I’m sorry.

No, I’m not.

Parents, it’s on us to do better by our kids. Because lessons about consent start on Day One.

4

Teach Your Kids That They Don’t Owe Anyone Hugs And Kisses

Day One of Parenthood: So you’ve got a floppy-headed baby who can’t see straight, can’t do anything but sleep, cry, poop, and latch (if you’re lucky), and is basically a hair scrunchie in human form. Day One isn’t the best day to start teaching consent, I guess. Whatever, let’s fast-forward.

Skip ahead to Day 730ish. Now you’ve got a toddler, and this toddler is so effing cute that you’re considering renaming them “Pixar.” We’re talking about chipmunk cheeks, 20 perfect square teeth that aren’t crowded or decayed in any way, a big fat Buddha belly accentuated by a onesie that this child has no shame in wearing, turkey drum limbs, and a Frankenstein gait that only makes them more squeezable. I just LOVE TODDLERS SO MUCH. Parents, I want to hug your squishy toddlers.

Also, I’m your problem.

Your job as a parent is to teach your child that that they own their adorable squishy bodies, and that grandmas, aunts, uncles, fun cute adult friends who seem to pose zero harm (like me!) aren’t deserving of their hugs just because they’re big and nice and want the hugs.

Let’s put it this way: When you’re a toddler, every other human is a Mountain. Not necessarily the Mountain who gave birth to the Mountain who gave birth to you, just a huge mass of someone who isn’t your mom or your dad. For some babies, that distinction is wiped away quickly, and hugs and kisses are as naturally forthcoming as the poop that defies gravity to land mid-back while their parents are trying to enjoy a night at Olive Garden. That’s why you, the parent, have to start giving your child options about hugs and kisses as soon as they’re big enough to understand “yes” and “no.”

Here’s a dramatic reenactment of a conversation that’s happening somewhere in the world at this very second:

Mom: Give Grandma a hug.

Child: *Frozen, suspicious and belligerent*

Grandma: Awww, can I have a hug? I flew across the country to see you! *Holds flabby arms out*

Mom: Give Grandma a hug or you can go to your room until you’re ready to be nice.

Grandma: No, it’s OK. *Mimes wiping away fake tears for dramatic effect*

Child: *Gives robot hug*

When I was a little kid, the consequences of disappointing an adult by not giving them physical affection could have ended with a guilt trip, an earlier bedtime, or worst-case scenario, a spanking. When my parents were kids, I’m guessing they were sent to the coal mines if they let down their older relatives in the hugging department.

The point is that we’ve trained children to think that when it comes to something innocent like hugs or tickling (when the whole point is how much the kid doesn’t want it), an adult’s feelings are more important than a child’s personal space. If you want your kid to say “no” with authority and confidence in the backseat of a driverless car ten years from now, they have to get practice saying no in general. More importantly, they have to know that hurting Grandma or Miss Kristi’s (that’s what kids call me sometimes) feelings is much less important than listening to their own gut.

By the way, I’m not advocating for adults to glue their arms to their sides and bow in deep respect every time they encounter a toddler. If I get to meet your toddler, I’m going to do what I always do: Sit on the floor and play with them and ask for a hug at the end of the visit. And if they say no or hesitate, I’ll back off and maybe ask for a high five instead. I’ll be fine. Your job as a parent is to give your kids lots of practice at turning people like me down so that they’re really good at saying no when the stakes are way higher.

Grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles, cherished friends of children, the same message goes to you. Do not make a child feel guilty for not wanting to give you a hug, even if you gave them a really cool present.

3

Teach Your Kids That No One Can Hit Them (Not Even You)

Oh, we’re going there.

When my kids were little, we had a Biblical(ish) approach to parenting, and discipline included spankings. Back then, my husband and I agreed that spankings (or pops on the bottom, as we called them) were a good tool for teaching a lesson when a child did something that could get them hurt. Running out into the street, for example, would get a pop on the bottom. (And we were usually talking about a weak slap on a diapered booty.) The logic was that the fear of getting a spanking combined with the pain of the spanking would create a memory that would make them never ever want to run into the street again.

Unfortunately, once you’ve allowed yourself to hit someone as a form of discipline or instruction, you don’t always follow your own rules, because you’re also human. Did we also give reactionary “spankings” in anger? Yes, once or twice because we’d opened the door to spankings and didn’t manage ourselves as well as we should have. Did we give “spankings” on non-diapered bottoms to kids who weren’t running out into the street but were mouthing off? Sadly, yes.

I regret allowing spanking in my home because A) spankings allowed my kids to see the very worst version of me, and B) research is revealing that spanking is tied to aggressive behavior, lower self-esteem, and increased mental health problems. I know the Bible says that kids who don’t get spanked grow up to be spoiled, but if your best tool for raising nice children is to hit them when they’re bad, you maybe shouldn’t be raising kids? And maybe stay away from dogs too while we’re at it.

Actually, let’s drop the word “spank” altogether for a minute, because it’s a euphemism for hitting, and we should be honest with ourselves when we hit another person, especially a child. As a child, you’re told that hitting other kids is bad and that kids who hit are bullies. But if you’ve been bad, your parents, grandparents, and sometimes your principal can hit you, and that’s OK because they’re big and old and in charge. The most basic, fundamental standard of human decency we’ve come up with throughout human history — do unto others as you’d have done to you — doesn’t apply to children.

So how do childhood spankings tie into consent in sexual situations? A kid who received spankings goes into adolescence and adulthood with the memory of being physically punished for being disobedient. They know what it’s like to get hurt for disappointing someone they love and trust. They know that it’s possible for people they care about to hurt them if they do something wrong. Ultimately, they were raised to believe that no one should hurt them unless it’s someone they love.

How does that lesson not make its way into the bedroom?

If we want our kids to walk into their first sexual experiences with the confidence to say no if they want to say no, we should start by practicing what we preach in the decades before the moment happens. “No one is allowed to hit you, not even me. You are in charge of your body, all the time, even when you’ve done something wrong. There is nothing you can do that will make me hurt your body, because that’s now how we treat each other.”

If you take spankings off the table, your child never gets taught that authority figures are allowed to hurt them if the conditions are right. Or that big people are authorized to apply their own internal logic of when it’s OK to hit and when it’s not OK to hurt their bodies.

Speaking of authority figures …

2

Teach Your Kids That Authority Figures And Heroes Can Be Bad

As of this writing, Larry Nassar, the doctor who used his position to sexually assault at least 120 young gymnasts, has been sentenced to 40-75 years in prison for his crimes. He won’t have the opportunity to serve those years until he finishes his 60-year sentence for the child porn charges that came before. I know. I hate him too.

It’s important to note here that this Nassar monster doesn’t fit neatly in an article about consent, but I’m dragging his sorry name in here anyway because we’re talking about parenting, and every parent should know what this man did. Consent is something that happens between two adults who are trying to hash out how far they want to go together. Consent is not a thing when a child is involved, ever. I bring Nassar up because during his trial, his victims weren’t only pointing their fingers at him; they shed light on the dozens of moments when the system that was supposed to protect them protected him instead. We’re talking about a man who sexually abused little girls while their parents were in the room.

And these weren’t regular parents like you and me. These were the kind of parents who would change jobs, move across the country, and invest thousands of dollars into making their children’s athletic dreams come true. They reworked their entire lives around their kids. They were like, super parents. But they couldn’t tell when a doctor was molesting their babies. Why? Because the very first rule they learned in their sexual education, and the first rule they taught their own kids, was that doctors are allowed to touch private parts.

I bring up Nassar because I can imagine the thought processes of both the victims and the parents in the room when he was committing his crimes. At the heart of their misgivings about his actions was self-doubt, feeling that they were wrong for feeling uncomfortable. This man is a doctor. Self-doubt is also at the heart of every adult encounter in which one person isn’t sure of how far they want to go but they don’t know how to express themselves. For example, when a woman is on a date with a guy she’s liked for a long time and second-guesses herself when he wants to move too fast because he’s well-liked and kind.

Self-doubt doesn’t emerge fully formed in someone’s head out of nowhere. It comes from the stories you tell yourself about yourself, and how much you trust your own feelings. Nassar lasted as a predator for multiple decades because most of us are freaking little kids when it comes to submitting to authority, and Nassar was a doctor, so he was an authority. He lasted because we will do mental gymnastics to avoid confrontation with people who hurt us, and we’d rather suffer than trust our own instincts.

So give your kids some room to doubt authority figures every now and then. Let them explore the concept that grownups can be bad, because yeah, some of them are monsters. Let your kids practice saying “no,” like, all the time. You think I’m kidding, but it’s shockingly hard to say “no” as an adult, especially to someone you like.

1

Teach Your Kids To Read And Respect The People Around Them

I can’t speak for every other woman out there, but the Aziz Ansari date night story hit me harder than the James Franco stories or accounts of Louis C.K. masturbating in front of female comedians, even though their actions were objectively more disgusting in every way. The Ansari account was painful because his date tied herself into knots as she tried to come up with ways to say “no” without hurting his feelings, but every clue she dropped was met with “yes, but,” as if their whole date was an improv game. A woman left his apartment in tears, and he thought they had a great night 24 hours later.

Unfortunately, the story was the best illustration of a consent problem that I’ve ever seen. One person struggled to say no, and the other person didn’t read, see, or hear her struggle at all, or read it and didn’t care. While every other entry on the list is a way to help your kid not become a victim, this one is to help your kid not become a person who tries to have sex with someone who’s not into it. That’s a matter of empathy, and it can be taught.

This starts with modeling empathy over and over and over again. Read your kids’ faces and bodies, and show them that they can read their friends’ faces as bodies as well. Literally say “Your face looks sad. Are you OK?” Or “Why did your friend go hide under the slide and start crying when you were playing? What happened?” Or “I can tell you’re mad at me because I ate all of the Goldfish while you were at school. We can talk about it when you’re ready.”

If the idea of acknowledging a child’s facial expressions and body language out loud over and over again is exhausting, that’s because it is. And that’s not including the times you’re calling them out for the wrong reasons. “Wipe that face off your face” is a favorite expression in my house, because everybody hates grumpy faces. But I can’t think of another way to teach kids how to check in with the emotional states of the people around them than to just … do that. Like, all the time.

Despite what pop culture has taught us, we want boys (and girls) who want to read faces and body language and want to land on the same place as their partners. We want future adults to pride themselves on how attuned they are to the person in front of them, especially when we’re talking about sex. We want guys (and girls) who ask “Is this OK?” before they get handsy because that’s how much they respect the person they’re with, even if they just met.

Parents, don’t wait for pop culture to catch up on teaching consent. It’s not going to happen any time soon. By the time the next generation of screenwriters figures out how to write sexy scenes that handle consent really well, your kids are already going to be grown.

Feel free to check in on Kristi’s emotional state whenever you want over on Twitter.

If you have children yourself and need some help with this, authors are writing children’s books geared towards teaching them these very things. Check them out!

If you loved this article and want more content like this, support our site with a visit to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you.

Read more: http://www.cracked.com/blog/what-were-still-not-teaching-kids-about-consent/

‘Vanderpump Rules’ Recap: It’s Not About The Pasta

I’ll be real with you guys, I don’t have a fun or clever way to segue into this week’s episode, so I’ll just dive right in.

Actually no, let’s not dive in. I’m re-watching the tail end of last episode, and Jax is seriously the worst. Watching him gaslight Brittany again is making me homicidal. It makes me so sad and angry that Brittany is staying with him. Like, I understand that money might be tempting, but is it worth it for your mental health? *Googles how much these people make per episode*

We open this episode with Stassi at SUR picking out some outfits for the Pride Parade party, so I guess Bravo is still pretending that Stassi is a legit event planner. Do you think you can put “fake event planner, Bravo TV” on your resume?

Lisa: I need all the hands I can get during Pride, even Stassi’s grubby little mitts.

Unpopular opinion: I’m not sure how much I love Lisa anymore. She just finds any reason to be a bitch to people two decades younger than her. Why don’t you pick on someone your own age? Isn’t that what you have for?

Oh, Peter is into essential oils and Reiki? He just used the phrase “I have all my chakras aligned” in earnest? I have never lost my attraction to a person so fast, not even when they tell me they’re from New Jersey. For the inevitable commenter who asks, “I’m from Jersey, what’s your beef with my state?” may I kindly direct you to my previous recaps?

Why do I feel like Jax is going to scam on this Reiki healer in like, two episodes’ time?

I want the record to show I typed that before Sandoval said it. Thank you, thank you, that’s why they pay me the big bucks to write these recaps. Aka I get paid zero extra money for doing them; I just do it for the love of the game.

All the girls are getting Botox together. My friends and I just go to brunch, but okay. 

Scheana is still sticking to the “My boyfriend couldn’t have kissed another girl, he doesn’t even make out with me” as a good argument. Honey, no. That’s not a good argument! That just means he isn’t into you.

Scheana: Can we just like stop talking about this and never speak of it again?

Everyone:

Stassi, Katie, Brittany and Kristen are at some cinema low-key trying to hook Brittany up with the waiter. They may be crazy bitches, but they’re good friends. But tbh I bet Jax is going to like, mentally fuck Brittany back to 1993 when he watches this exchange play out on camera and use it as retroactive justification for his cheating. Somebody please go check on Brittany and make sure she’s okay.

Meanwhile, James and Lala are at some restaurant that apparently sells Welch’s grape soda and gin. Snoop Dogg would be disgraced.

James: I’ve been trying to cut down the drinking

Also James: To getting drunk! *takes two huge shots in 20 seconds*

Also ALSO James: I could easily stop drinking at any time.

Hmm where have I heard that before? Oh right, 8th grade health class and every episode of ever. 

Wait so Lala tells James that she ate Raquel’s pasta and now James is going full psycho like “Don’t fuck with my bitch, or I’ll fuck with your fat man and he’ll be onto his next pretty blonde.”

Lala is calmly trying to explain the joke about the pasta (which for the record I don’t think was funny to begin with so really this is all Lala’s fault) and it does not go well. Lala stands up for herself and storms out, and I don’t think James even remembers what he said to make her so mad a full two seconds ago. This is so fucking dumb. Is it about the pasta? Or is it not? SOMEBODY HELP ME!

James: It’s not about the pasta! *turns away* *two seconds later* It’s not about the pasta! *turns away* *two seconds later* It’s not about the pasta!

And rinse and repeat for an hour until the screen fades to black and it says “Executive Producer Lisa Vanderpump.”

Just kidding, but I wish. *This joke has been brought to you by John Mulaney*

Back at SUR, Scheana confronts Ariana and Brittany to find out if Katie was talking shit about her. Oh my god, she’s so annoying. Just accept that other people are going to talk shit about you. Talking shit literally pays your bills.

Scheana: *brings up the Rob cheating rumors*

Scheana 2 seconds later: OMG CAN WE STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS ALREADY *storms out*

Sandoval and Schwartz show up to the wreckage that is to be Tom Tom, because according to Sandoval, they’re putting in less money into their investment so they’re going to compensate with sweat equity. I feel like a better idea would be for you to just like, not compromise the structural integrity of this building with your dumb asses.

Anyone who says Kristen is reformed and sane now needs to take every seat as she describes how she literally tracks Carter’s every move via GPS while everybody else in the room just lets her drone on about her NSA-esque surveillance tactics without acknowledging her in any way.

Schwartz stayed over at Sandoval’s (a no-no) because he got too wasted (another no-no) and instead of starting a fight about it when he came home, Katie just let it go. Schwartz says “I feel like I fell in love with you all over again” because Katie lets him blow through her (very reasonable) boundaries with no consequences. God, I fucking hate men.

I don’t know why Lisa is volunteering to become Katie and Tom’s marriage counselor. “Not my circus, not my monkeys” – my favorite expression I found on the internet that I’d be employing the fuck out of in this situation.

Watching Kristen try to explain Pride is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. “We’re out here because love is love and to everyone who doesn’t think love is love, suck a dick.” Probs not the best turn of phrase to use in this context. I’m just saying.

Rob comes in to SUR and Scheana gives him the grand tour: “And here’s where I yelled at Brittany and Ariana, and here’s where I told everyone to stop talking about the rumors about you making out with someone.” But tell me more how you don’t want to talk about it ever again.

Scheana: I lost my smile this week.

Funny coincidence, I lost my dinner just now.

At SUR, Stassi is telling the guys to put paint on their face. Sandoval is like “Oh hell yeah I’ve been practicing my contour for weeks now.”

Scheana hugs Lala and is 1) TALKING ABOUT THE RUMORS AGAIN *looks for something with which to fashion a noose out of* and 2) telling Lala Rob said “Don’t let anyone take your smile” which we all saw HER say. Scheana, what’s it like to live in another reality? Asking for a friend myself.

Okay but I’m not sure how I feel about Lala accusing Scheana of relapsing with her eating disorder, because like, that’s a sensitive topic and you shouldn’t just throw that around willy-nilly. And even if that is the case, IDK, I feel like there are certain lines you don’t cross, even for TV. But what do I know, I guess I’m just old fashioned.

Billie Lee gets up in the middle of pride to give a speech about being trans, and holy shit, this girl is brave. I will be quietly monitoring her Instagram comments for any trolls. If you wanna come for Billie, you’re gonna have to go through me. …An anonymous internet writer. YEAH.

So James body slammed on Jax’s crotch and now he’s almost making out with Logan while Raquel watches in the corner, horrified. Just saying, I called this from episode one. I just want James to be his authentic self, ya know?

Watching James buy Logan vodka Red Bulls and kiss him on the cheek while Raquel texts by herself in a corner reminds me a lot of how I’d watch my boyfriend and my roommate interact when we’d go out to bars together. Yep, you all thought I’d make it one episode without mentioning that dumpster fire of a relationship, but nope. Take a drink.

Lisa pulls Scheana aside from her job in the middle of THE BUSIEST DAY OF THE YEAR (a fact that annoys me but I should be used to it by now) to ask her how she’s doing. Scheana—you guessed it—brings up the “Rob making out with another girl” rumors. I’m just weeping to myself out of frustration at this point, for anyone at home who’s wondering.

Lisa: Even if this relationship doesn’t work out, it’s not the end of the world.

Scheana: Well it’s gonna work out because we’re meant to be together.

It must be exhausting being this delusional.

Scheana is definitely your friend who’s never been single and doesn’t know how to be. Scheana is Taylor Swift. Actually, that’s a pretty good think piece title. Coming soon to Betches. Someone comes up to Scheana and Rob and is like “What’s up?” and Scheana is like, “I got my smile back!!!” I’m so over this. I don’t ever wanna hear Scheana talk about her smile again, and if that means she never smiles, so be it.

Katie and Brittany come over to Brittany and Jax’s apartment. But first off, I am kind of weirded out by Kristen constantly saying Brittany is the best thing to happen to their group. Like, IDK, she just stans way too hard for these peripheral people, like Patrick. It’s just weird.

Brittany’s mom flew in to LA to surprise Brittany, and I just want to take the time to dissect Jax’s facial expression after learning that Sherry is in his apartment.

Okay, so I may not have captured it that well in this screenshot, but in the previews before the commercials, Jax was making this surprised face but if you looked closely (or are a psycho like me, hard to tell), he kind of looks a little bemused by the situation. Anyone? Or just me? 

You all can debate the intricacies of Jax’s facial expression in the comments. Or not. Whatever. But somebody answer this? WAS IT ABOUT THE PASTA? 

Read more: http://www.betches.com/vanderpump-rules-season-6-episode-7-recap

A Definitive List Of All The Things Millennials Have “Killed”

Insane as it sounds, in a world where our highest ranking public official watches four to eight hours of television a day and every male Hollywood exec has like ten assault allegations against them, millennials are still considered society’s villains.

The olds are threatened by fast-texters and have decided the only way to take us down is to write lengthy articles about products, brands, and trends we’ve “killed.” By “killed” they just mean, things we DGAF about anymore. Sorry face-to-face conversations are boring, Grandma.

Here is a list of my favorite things millennials have killed. 

Diamonds

When millennials started swiping instead of settling, diamond companies freaked out and were like who TF will buy our unethically sourced jewels?! Honestly, we’re receiving false alarms that Hawaii is being nuked and our president is in a dick measuring contest with an insane dictator across the world. That “forever” diamonds are promising doesn’t have much value at the moment. Also, have you ever seen a millennial’s bank account? They’re mostly overdraft fees caused by 2am drunk purchases on Amazon. Diamonds aren’t exactly on the menu.

Doorbells

Millennials are texting their friends when they roll up instead of ringing doorbells and this is hurting Baby Boomers’ feelings. This feels nitpicky and anyone who has strong feelings about doorbells and how often they are used can just chill. Plus, I’m not going to just answer the door if I don’t know who is going to be there? I think that is a shared sentiment and coincides with the decrease in popularity of serial killers. No need to look that up, seems undeniably true.

Napkins

Well, first of all, we aren’t buying napkins because we’re getting free napkins in our takeout bags. Duh. Second of all, we’re using paper towels. Rent costs like 90% of my paycheck and Rihanna’s Fenty Beauty products account for the rest of the what I spend. I don’t have the luxury to buy two different types of paper products? Napkins are over.

Cereal

HAVE [CLAP] YOU [CLAP] HEARD [CLAP] OF [CLAP] AVOCADO [CLAP] TOAST [CLAP]???

Motorcycles

Millennials have “killed” motorcycles but tbh I think that’s just because we haven’t hit a midlife crisis yet. Give us like 15 years and we’re all going to buying those bad boys to rev up our lives and seem sexy again. Just be patient and those Harley sales will spike back up. For now we will spend our life saving on Lyft rides and then wonder why we can’t afford luxuries like “health insurance.”

Heads up, you need to keep up with the news. It’s not cute anymore. That’s why we’ve created a 5x weekly newsletter called The ‘Sup that will explain all the news of the week in a hilarious af way. Because if we weren’t laughing, we’d be crying. Sign up for The ‘Sup now!

Read more: http://www.betches.com/millennials-ruined-list

10 Everyday Habits That Are Destroying Your Hair

Hair health is for reals. You may think it doesn’t take a genius to get good, long, healthy hair, but you could be wrong. Like, did you know that 90% of your normal routine is probably leading to breakage and the actual opposite of shampoo commercial hair? It’s sad, but it’s true. Since we only hang out with people who have nice clothes and hair, we figured it was our godly duty to inform you of the everyday shit you’re def doing that’s fucking up your potentially shiny, amazing hair. So say goodbye to things like cotton pillowcases, towels, and hot water. SAD.

1. Hot Water

I love washing away the stench of failure a day at the office as much as the next betch, but it’s important to know that turning that dial all the way up to HOT can lead to breakage and frizz because you’re washing out all the natural oils in your hair. You can still take a hot shower, just don’t, like, overdo it.

2. Wrapping Your Hair In A Towel

Because towels aren’t, by nature, that soft, using one to wrap around your head turban-style can actually lead to more breakage. Rubbing and trying to dry hair with a towel is even worse. Using something like a jersey material is actually WAY better and more absorbent.

3. Sleeping On A Cotton Pillowcase

YAS QUEEN. Stop sleeping on that plebeian material and invest in a silk or satin pillowcase (like this one from SLIP that we swear by). Not only is it gentler on your skin and less likely to give you wrinkles (bless), but it also won’t play host to as much friction as cotton, which can lead to hair breakage.

4. Dry Shampoo

Alright, well, I guess I’ll just go fuck myself. APPARENTLY using too much dry shampoo can block your scalp’s pores and make your hair super dull. It can even lead to literal pimples on your head. I’ve never felt so betrayed.

5. Putting Your Hair In A Top Knot

I KNOW. According to Doris Day, an important historical figure NYC dermatologist, tight hairstyles put strain on hair follicles, damaging them and creating scars that can, in turn, destroy the follicle forever. So, like, go ahead and wear the topknot, but not every day and not hella tight.

6. Skipping Milk And Red Meat

Sooooo the juice cleanse you’re on may have you feeling super in touch with your inner zen, but it isn’t doing jack shit for your hair. Turns out you need protein and calcium to provide keratin, which helps protect hair from the inside out. The more you know.

7. Not Cleaning Your Brushes

We all have one—don’t deny it. Dirty brushes can actually irritate your scalp and result in clogged pores, equaling not so shiny tresses.

8. Skipping Breakfast

Ughhhhh. So apparently, hair needs nutrients just like the rest of your body, and not eating can fuck that shit up. Like, not chugging some OJ and stuffing a granola bar in your face at 7am can actually lead to shedding and slower growth of your hair. So, like, eat.

9. Going To Bed With Wet Hair

Although moms everywhere will attest that going to bed with a wet head will def result in pneumonia/AIDS/death, it actually is super bad for your hair—not so much your health. Putting wet hair in a ponytail and going to bed can lead to breakage since the hair is in a not-so-strong state.

10. Skipping The Hairdresser

If you’re trying to grow out your hair, a trip to the salon seems out of the question. But not going could actually be worse for your long tress quest. As your hair grows, you’re obv going to have split ends. If you don’t cut ’em off, and keep growing everything out, those splits are going to travel upward. So, like, go to the hairdresser—ask for a “dusting” or to JUST remove split ends. It’ll be okay. 

 

Read more: http://www.betches.com/10-habits-that-are-destroying-your-hair

5 Crazy Stories From The Early Days Of Disneyland

As we’ve mentioned many times in the past, your favorite purveyor of childhood memories and nostalgia isn’t as wholesome as you like to think. From sidelining Mickey Mouse’s true creator to backstabbing Robin Williams, there are plenty of whimsical cartoon skeletons in Disney’s closet, and we aren’t done airing them all. You can blame our broken childhood, penchant for fun-ruining, or plain old spite, but it’s a drug that we can’t kick. So let us tell you about …

5

The Pirates Of The Caribbean Ride Was (And Might Still Be) Decorated With Real Skeletons

Think fast, what’s your favorite ride at Disneyland, and why are you lying about it not being Pirates of the Caribbean? It might have resulted in Johnny Depp’s career being extended way beyond its natural lifespan, sure, but it’s so cool, what with the waterfalls and the pirates and the cannons and the real desiccated skulls laying everywhere.

Kidding. They aren’t “everywhere” anymore. There are only a few left in the ride … they think.

You see, when the ride was built in 1967, it cost $105 million — a sum that went into making PotC the most in every way possible, from the animatronics to lighting to special effects to puffy shirts. According to a book by former Disney producer Jason Surrell, the only problem they had was finding decorative skeletons that didn’t look like they’d spent the best part of the last century sitting in your grandma’s attic. Utilizing the sort of ingenuity that lands you the job of designing theme park rides, the team hit up some friends at UCLA Medical Center and asked if they wouldn’t mind handing out some medical specimens.

Joe Penniston/FlickrYou know, for the kids.

And it worked! The ride was a smash hit with park patrons, who probably weren’t aware that they were now subject to the dumbest curse imaginable. Over time, the skeletons were replaced with better-looking replicas and given a proper burial. Or at least, most of them were. Maybe. Although it’s hard to say for sure, there’s reason to believe that there are still a few genuine body parts occupying the ride, identifiable thanks to the fact that they look a lot more … discolored than the fakes, and also possess anatomical features that it’s doubtful model makers would have bothered to include.

Harsh Light/FlickrHint: It’s the one that got turned into a freaking bed.

It’s hard to confirm these as real without security attempting to turn you into a human pinata, but the legends might be true about there being a disembodied head at Disneyland, folks. We all just made the mistake of thinking that it was Walt’s.

4

You Could Fly To Disneyland By Helicopter … Until Two Crashed In The Same Year, Killing 44 People

Driving to Disneyland with a car full of children is an experience equal to journeying through the nine circles of Hell, except we don’t remember The Divine Comedy making reference to anyone having to poop at the world’s dirtiest truck stop.

It’s not like the good ol’ days, when tourists were able to beat the crowds entirely and fly straight into the park, courtesy of a frequent helicopter shuttle provided by Los Angeles Airways. Visitors could fly from LAX to a heliport built near the park (and back again) in a little under 20 minutes, all for the princely sum of $4. Alongside luxury and the obligatory cocaine-like ego boost that riding anywhere in a helicopter provides, riders were also able to experience a breathtaking view of the park that few have seen since those halcyon days … albeit for a very good reason.

Disney History InstituteAnd no, sadly it wasn’t something like “awful complimentary peanuts.”

In May 1968, a shuttle carrying 20 passengers and three crew crashed en route to LAX from Disneyland after encountering mechanical difficulties. Whilst flying over the city, witnesses reported that the helicopter started lurching uncontrollably. Although the crew attempted to lighten the load by throwing cargo over the side, their efforts to reduce how badly gravity was trying to screw them were proven to be for naught by the helicopter suddenly nosediving into the ground. Everyone aboard was killed, in what was deemed the then-worst civilian helicopter disaster in U.S. history. Unfortunately, there was about to be competition in that department.

Disney History Institute“Welp, at least this is never, ever happening again.”

In the aftermath of the accident, it was found that a single missing bolt had caused the rotor blades to essentially dismantle themselves in midair. You’d expect such a failure with the needing-to-have-working-rotors-in-order-to-not-kill-a-bunch-of-people machines to cause the fleet to be grounded while they were checked for problems, and they were. It’s too bad that almost immediately after service was resumed, the same freaking thing happened again.

In August 1968, only three months after the first crash, a copter travelling from LAX to Disneyland carrying 18 passengers and three crew dropped out of the sky from a height of 1,500 feet after, you guessed it, the rotor blades separated from the craft. All 21 people aboard were killed in what was probably the then-second-worst civilian helicopter disaster in U.S. history, including the grandchild of the CEO of Los Angeles Airways. The service was grounded again, and the ensuing lawsuits, legal costs, and strike actions shuttered the shuttle — which, let’s face it, was probably just as well at that point.

3

Disneyland Used To Have “Real” Mermaids (Swimming Near Razor-Sharp Propellers)

In building Disneyland, Walt Disney strived for a level of immersion just shy of hallucinogenic. Nothing in the park — nothing — could remind his guests that they were paying crazy amounts of money to ride average-ish fairground rides and cheer as their kids kicked a costumed performer in the groin. This is the same philosophy that resulted in a supervillain-esque tunnel complex being built beneath the park (although we’re not sure where the communal underwear fits into this).

So when the time came to build a mermaid lagoon to drive submarines into, you can bet that Uncle Walt made damn sure that they were the most mermaid-y-acting mermaids money could buy, up to and including their willingness to damn near shear their faces off.

In 1959, Disneyland opened Submarine Voyage, a ride which allowed visitors to experience what it was like to ride in a submarine and journey through the briny depths of the oceans, including seeing sea monsters and mermaids. Of course, we don’t mean real mermaids, because as you know, Disney wouldn’t go into genetic engineering until they created Justin Timberlake in the ’90s. We’re talking about starfish-bra-wearing, fake-tail-clad women who made an easy $45 a week by swimming in the waters of the ride and sunning themselves on a rock, to the delight of onlookers. As it happens, however, the ride’s submarines used real propellers for authenticity, and so the mermaids would frequently have to worry about being sucked into and vaporized by the blasted thing.

Santa Monica PressOn the upside, if the propeller chopped off their legs, they could probably charge extra for the added authenticity.

Being half-naked women having fun in the sun, the mermaids would also have to contend with lecherous dudes jumping the fence and swimming out to them, presumably in the hope of fertilizing their eggs. That is, when they weren’t showering the mermaids in dollars bills and rolls of quarters like dancers at the world’s happiest/weirdest strip joint. The problems with male guests, as well as the general dangers of asking people to swim in a dirty pool of flotsam, jetsam, and razor blades, eventually convinced Disney to call quits on this one and stick to cartoon merfolk.

2

The CIA Advised Walt Disney On Preventing The Government From Meddling With Disney World

Not too long ago, we told you about how Disney World is, legally speaking, a secessionist state outside of the reach of the guvmit and its unfair insistence on rules and stuff. It’s a pretty weird arrangement for what is essentially a high-class Chuck E. Cheese’s, but how did it come to be in the first place? We’re pretty sure that though Walt Disney was an eccentric motherflipper, he had better things to do than host a coup d’etat. Well, that’s partially correct, in that he didn’t have the time — no, he palmed the job off to the CIA, who were more than happy to help. They had experience in this sort of thing, after all.

After he’d finished purchasing the land for their proposed park, Disney was left with more than 40 square miles under his company’s control. Eager to keep as much of that out of the government’s grasping mitts as possible, Disney teamed up with William Donovan (also known as the “Father of the CIA”) and Paul Helliwell (a lawyer who was part of efforts to overthrow Fidel Castro) to help build, lest we remind you, a cartoon-character-filled theme park.

Florida Development CommissionDespot Center was later renamed EPCOT.

So how do you solve a problem like government oversight? Oh, that’s easy: You create two ghost cities (the City of Bay Lake and the City of Lake Buena Vista) and populate them with your own workers, who, in exchange for certain privileges, agree to run the town in whatever way their corporate overlords want. Under this arrangement, Disney gets what it wants (freedom from the state, zero taxation, exemption from environmental regulations, maybe a goat sacrifice or two), and the workers get what they want, i.e. to live next to Disney World and line-cutting privileges at Space Mountain.

There are some pesky issues with this, namely that it violates certain parts of the Constitution and requires that all workers toe the line politically unless they want to be homeless. But that’s a small price to pay for wholesome, family-friendly fun, right?

1

A Former Nazi Interrogator Made The Mosaics In Cinderella’s Castle

As anyone who has ever undergone a midlife change in career knows, that stuff is hard to pull off. There’s all the doubt about whether you did the right thing, the constant line of questioning about why your old place was so bad, and the general confusion that comes from, say, spending 50 years as a coal miner, only to take up fluffing. For Hanns Scharff, however, it was a pretty easy, stress-free decision to move into the illustrious world of designing the mosaics that adorn Disneyland and EPCOT. After all, his previous job was “Nazi interrogator.” And no, we don’t mean that he interrogated Nazis.

During World War II, Scharff served as an interrogator with the Luftwaffe, tasked with dredging information out of captured Allied pilots and other POWs. He only managed to avoid being assigned a shift as a gallows tester at Nuremberg because he was one of those rare interrogators who didn’t like hurting people. He’d only fallen into the job butt-first after his superiors were wiped out in a (non-Disney-related) plane accident, not because of any raging bloodlust. Consequently, he wasn’t totally down on beating people, figuring that there must be a better way, gosh dang it. Even if he was working for the actual Nazis and all.

Scharff found that “better way” in the art of manipulating minds. Instead of strapping pilots to chairs and electrowiring their nuts, Scharff would simply let his newfound friends talk. One of his favorite gambits was to use his extensive intelligence network to build up a complete picture of each pilot and then lord his superior knowledge over them, making sure to get certain pieces of information wrong. His prisoners, desperate to one-up him, would then correct him, not knowing that they’d given him the information that he needed.

Schiffer Publishing, Ltd.If you ever wondered what would happen if Mr. Rogers was in a teleporter accident with Hitler, there you go.

His success rate was also helped by his habit of taking his prisoners on long walks through the local woodland, where they would share cigarettes, frolic, and talk about, like, home and the war and stuff that in a parallel universe lost them the war. Scharff would also arrange other experiences for his guests: dining with high command, visiting the local zoo, enjoying baked goods provided by Scharff’s wife, and so on. It was pretty much how you’d get a toddler to spill war secrets. One prisoner was even afforded the opportunity to fly a Messerschmitt fighter plane, albeit one with little to no fuel and no machine guns. Scharff was kind, but he wasn’t as gullible and easily manipulated as, um, our guys.

Despite being a foot soldier for history’s great evil, Scharff was well-respected by his prisoners, and come the end of the war, he was able to hit up some of his old contacts for advice about moving to the United States. Once there, he discovered his true passion: mosaic art. He established a workshop in New York City. His business booming, he subsequently moved to California, where he was soon contracted to decorate Cinderella’s Castle and EPCOT. It’s all well and good stealing Nazis for NASA, but did they ever make a child smile? We think not.

From Screen to Theme
From Screen to ThemeJust, you know, try not to mention any state secrets near here.

Adam Wears is on Twitter and Facebook, and has a newsletter about depressing history that you should totally subscribe to. It’s really good, honest.

Mermaid tails are actually pretty heavy-duty gear and you do not want to be sucked into a propeller while wearing one.

If you loved this article and want more content like this, support our site with a visit to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you.

Read more: http://www.cracked.com/article_25274_5-crazy-stories-from-early-days-disneyland.html

This New Theory About Trump’s Weight Is Our Favorite Conspiracy Ever

Everybody stop what you’re doing — there is a movement taking the nation by storm and it’s crucial that you know about it. It’s called the “girther movement” and its basic concept is that Trump is fat. That sounds more like a fact than a theory or a movement, we know. We’re getting to the details, chill.

So, remember when Trump started a false rumor that Obama was not born in America? It’s almost like spreading racist lies is a hobby of his. Anyway, that was called the “birther movement” and it was a bunch of BS and Trump is a terrible person etc. etc. Well, now we have some payback for the McDonald’s Customer of the Year current president. And it is the girther movement. Time to get in-formation.

What is it: A movement to set the record straight and prove that Trump is fatter than White House says he is.

Where did it come from? Trump underwent his physical exam and was reported to be in great physical shape. And then anyone with eyes was like, “lol no.” MSNBC’s Chris Hayes coined the actual term “girther movement” and now he will go down in history as a national hero.

What are some of the hot deets? So glad you asked. The results of the exam stated that Trump is  6’3 and 239lbs, with a Body Mass Index of 29.9. What’s important to note here is that his New York driver’s license says he is 6’2, and if Trump was an inch shorter or a pound heavier he would be officially classified as obese. Seems suspicious to me.

The doctor credited the president’s health to “incredible genes,” which is easily refutable with a quick google search of Trump’s sons. They are so ugly it’s honestly offensive. Also, Exhibit B: Trump himself. If those are good genes I quit.

The president also scored a 30 out of 30 on the Montreal Cognitive Assessment test, meaning his mental capacity is in good shape as well. Before you start a movement about how this is also a lie, please note that the test is mostly naming animals and drawing hands on clocks, so maybe let this one go. Congrats, everyone, our president can name a giraffe when he sees one and even knows how to tell time. A big day for us all.

Now, let’s take to twitter and push this Girther Movement. DRAG [CLAP EMOJI] HIM.

Heads up, you need to keep up with the news. It’s not cute anymore. That’s why we’ve created a 5x weekly newsletter called The ‘Sup that will explain all the news of the week in a hilarious af way. Because if we weren’t laughing, we’d be crying. Sign up for The ‘Sup now!

Read more: http://www.betches.com/girther-movement

Gluten? Bacon? Whats Good Or Bad For You Right Now

Scientists seem to constantly change their minds about what’s good for you and what’s bad for you. One week eggs are the most important part of a healthy breakfast; the next week they’re artery-exploding death capsules. So we’ve taken it upon ourselves to keep up with the latest health news, and summarize it for you here.

12

Source: U.S. News & World Report

11

10

Source: ABC 15

9

7

5

3

1

Source: CBS News

You know what’s always going to be good for you no matter what? Listening to Africa by Toto.

If you loved this article and want more content like this, support our site with a visit to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you.

Read more: http://www.cracked.com/article_25417_gluten-bacon-whatE28099s-good-or-bad-you-right-now.html